


I don't know, it's a mystery

by InNately



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affectionate Crowley (Good Omens), Feelings are confusing especially when your memory is fucked, Fluff, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Stubborn Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNately/pseuds/InNately
Summary: Two people find themselves bonding through (or in spite of) their shared amnesia. Just two ordinary people. Nothing occult or ethereal here, move along.





	I don't know, it's a mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I’d already written a post-show fic, which I really enjoyed, but I found myself wondering about the implications of the book’s ending and wound up with this, too. Obviously it still draws a lot on the show. 
> 
> Credit to “Human Nature”/”The Family of Blood” for additional inspiration. Really just a full-blown David Tennant party round these parts.
> 
> And I realised after writing it that, throughout most of this work, Aziraphale is basically embodying [this comic](https://www.webtoons.com/en/comedy/bluechair/ep-59-busy-work/viewer?title_no=199&episode_no=61).

Zee woke up on a Monday morning that was just like any other. Or rather, he assumed it was just like any other. He found, as he sat up and stretched in his cosy, quilt-covered bed, that his mind felt somewhat . . . fuzzy, and he wasn’t in fact sure he remembered going to bed the night before. When he tried to cast his mind back to the weekend, all he found was a splitting headache. He must have been on quite a bender, he thought. 

There wasn’t much time to reflect, though, since he also noticed abruptly that at least three of his organs were crying out for attention. He was confused for a moment at the urgency his body was exhibiting, as if it maybe were not so normal for him to need things this badly. But that couldn’t be right; eating, drinking, voiding, etc. were fairly inescapable parts of the human experience.

“Right! Bathroom, tea, toast!” he instructed himself firmly, hauling his body out of bed and getting to business. There was only an hour until the shop opened, after all. 

It was all perfectly mundane: he used the toilet, washed his face, brushed his teeth, put on the kettle, and placed two slices of lovely seven-grain bread in the toaster oven. The bathroom and kitchen were really sparklingly clean, he noticed. Almost unused. He must have . . . gone on a cleaning spree? During the weekend he couldn’t remember? 

He didn’t have time to worry about it, since the toaster oven was now smoking. “Serves me right for getting distracted,” he told himself, slathering butter on his singed toast. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning.” He set his confusion aside and focused on enjoying his breakfast and preparing for the day.

The sign on the shop door said it opened at 9:00, though Zee had a sense that he rarely unlocked the doors before 11:00. That would have to change, he thought. He could scarcely remember the last time he’d sold a book, and the next mortgage payment would be due soon . . . probably. He wasn’t entirely sure when or how much he owed, now that he thought about it. He sighed: another item to add to the list of things he’d have to investigate. Whatever he’d gotten up to over the weekend, he needed to sort himself out and get back into the swing of ordinary life.

He had a handful of customers that morning, a couple of whom actually bought things; they seemed strangely hesitant to be rung up, almost as if they were expecting him to be upset at them for patronising his business! The third time a customer apologised for buying a book, Zee couldn’t take it anymore. 

“My dear, you look as if you’re expecting me to bite your head off! Isn’t buying books rather the point of coming to a bookshop?”

The young woman looked uncomfortable. “Well . . . I suppose, but . . . you usually look like I’m trying to steal your firstborn son whenever I try to buy something.”

Zee frowned. That didn’t seem right; he was a small business owner, and Lord knew times were hard for the book industry. He should be doing everything in his power to keep his clientele happy and buying. 

“I’m so sorry, my dear, but I think you’ll find I’m quite a changed man. Please do not feel you are burdening me by purchasing anything whatsoever from the shop! And tell your friends! All customers are welcome here!”

The woman looked baffled but relieved, and she assured him she’d let her university classmates know to check out the shop. “You do have a remarkable collection, Mr. Fell. I’m glad to hear you’re finally willing to part with some of it.”

“Of course! Do come again!” Zee beamed as the door closed behind her. It seemed he’d been rather falling down on his job, but it was nothing he couldn’t turn around with a bit of effort. And he did feel confident that his collection of rare books and first editions was unparalleled. He just needed to up his marketing efforts.

The day wore on and the customers kept coming. He ate a late lunch, once again feeling surprised by the urgency with which his stomach demanded feeding. He got the impression that he wasn’t especially good at remembering to eat at regular intervals, though he certainly enjoyed food plenty when he did get round to it. 

Near closing time, the semi-steady trickle of customers dwindled, and he found himself with a few spare minutes. He picked up an exceedingly old book that was sitting on his desk; this must be what he was currently reading. It was heavy, and bound in green leather. It looked to be a book of prophecies. He opened it and found his eye drawn to a particular entry around the middle of the left-hand page:

_When all is faeted and donne, I should chewse neither Angell nor Daemon to be, for soon enough both sides shall come a-knockinge_

What a nutter, he thought. He wondered why he’d been reading such nonsense, and stood up to go put the strange tome on its proper shelf. Just then, the bell rang as a new customer walked in. 

“Good evening! We’re closing up in a few minutes, but you’re welcome to browse for a bit.” 

The man was wearing sunglasses, though it was evening and the shop wasn’t terribly well lit. And he leaned against the door frame like he owned the place. Which couldn’t be true; Zee might be having some strange memory deficits today, but he was quite sure this was his shop. Maybe the man was a _film star_, he thought suddenly. That could explain the dark glasses and the easy, confident handsomeness that practically dripped off him as he surveyed the shop. 

“You look so familiar . . .” Zee said. “You remind me of that doctor-“

“Who?” said the man.

“Er . . . never mind. But do I know you from somewhere?” Zee asked, smiling tentatively. 

“I don’t know,” the man replied, looking rueful. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes in a way that made him seem, for a moment, much older than he possibly could be. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

He took a step towards the nearest bookshelf, running a long finger down a dusty spine, then turned toward Zee, an expectant look in his eyes. They were a fascinating golden colour, Zee saw now. Surely he’d remember if he’d seen eyes like that before . . . ?

“This whole day, I’ve felt lost, like . . . Well, like my life doesn’t make any sense,” the man said, hesitant. Zee shifted uneasily; this sounded uncomfortably familiar. “But when I walked past this shop I . . . I don’t know, this probably sounds insane, but it feels like I needed to come in here, or something. Do you have any idea why that would be?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any answers for you, my dear,” Zee said firmly. He felt deeply disinclined to discuss anything other than books with this man, lest he reveal his own mnemonic shortcomings. They were private, just between him and his brain, and might conceivably resolve themselves if they were ignored long enough. “A good book is the antidote to many of life’s troubles, though. Can I offer you a recommendation? What do you typically like to read?”

The man looked troubled. “Well . . . I’m not sure. Can’t remember the last time I read a book, to be honest.” He cracked a grin that was rather charming, if Zee was honest with himself. “I’m Anthony, by the way.” He held out a hand.

“Zee,” Zee replied, shaking it. There was an odd, shivery feeling in his fingers as they touched Anthony’s, and he dropped the handshake quickly. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said, taking a seat at his desk again and continuing to sort through the mess of papers—some of them seeming impossibly old!—that had accumulated there.

Anthony sauntered slowly through the rows of bookcases. Zee studiously examined the papers on his desk, trying to distract himself from the unease he felt whenever he thought about his inexplicable amnesia. Having this man here, reminding him of his lapse, was _not helping_.

He stole a glance at Anthony, who was examining an early edition of _Persuasion_. He certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and the shop was due to close in five minutes. Hardly the right time for a long browse through the shelves.

The two coexisted in silence for a few minutes, and then, just when Zee was about to voice an objection about the time, Anthony headed for the door. 

“I’ll see you round, Zee!” he said over his shoulder as he stepped out into the street and shut the door behind him, thoughtfully flipping the sign to CLOSED as he went.

“You will?” Zee asked the empty air.

* * *

Indeed, Anthony was around quite a lot. It wasn’t every day, but near enough. He bought a book just often enough that he could technically be called a customer, but Zee was sure that books weren’t Anthony’s primary motive for showing up. Most of the time Anthony simply sprawled on the shop sofa and mucked about on his phone, doing Lord knew what. He’d turn up in the late morning and hang around for hours, often staying until just before closing time, at which point he’d get up, stretch lazily, nod a goodbye in Zee’s direction, and walk out. And this continued, for weeks.

It was _confusing_, really, especially since Anthony barely even talked to him; Zee had a couple of inklings as to what he _might_ have been after (inklings that were exciting and frightening in equal measures), but surely Anthony would behave differently if he were seeking . . . 

“Why are you always coming here?” Zee blurted.

“What?” Anthony looked up from his phone, baffled, as if Zee’s question had come completely out of the blue. Which, in fairness to him, it had. 

“It’s just . . . You don’t seem to care much for books. And surely you have more interesting things to do with your time than slouch on my sofa playing on your mobile telephone.” Zee bit his lip; he’d sounded more accusatory than he’d meant to. 

Anthony gave him a long, cool glance over his dark glasses. Then he asked: “When’s your birthday?”

“When’s my what?” Zee asked, completely taken aback. Anthony stood up slowly, and took a slinky step towards him. 

“What was the name of the street you grew up on? What were your parents like?” He moved closer. “Who was your best mate at school? What did you want to be when you grew up?” Zee’s brain short-circuited; objectively, these were fairly ordinary questions, but as Zee scrambled to come up with answers, he encountered nothing but the yawning, gaping void that was his memory. 

“I- Why do you want to know? How is this relevant?” Zee asked, turning bright pink. Anthony was leaning right up against his desk now; Zee could feel his piercing golden gaze through the dark lenses. He felt, strangely, like a mouse caught by a snake, unable to look away, unable to think up any plausible lies. 

“I think you know exactly why I’m asking,” Anthony said, slow and almost dangerous. “Answer the questions.” Zee swallowed.

“I- I can’t,” he whispered, looking down. And there it was, out in the open, his great shame. 

“There now,” said Anthony, his face softening. “Was that so hard?” Zee looked up at him, suddenly bursting with hurt and anger for reasons that he didn’t care to contemplate.

“It was, actually,” he said, standing abruptly and going over to the door to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED, though it was only midafternoon. He spun to face Anthony, glaring. “I happen to feel that my relationship with my own personal memories—or, or lack thereof—is _private_.” 

“Look, I’m not trying to be- _invasive_,” Anthony shot back, defensive. “It’s just . . .” He paused. “It’s just that I understand.”

“How could you _possibly_ understand?” Zee demanded, still glaring. 

Anthony sighed, pulling off his dark glasses and collapsing into a chair. “I don’t know, it’s a mystery. Alright, no, I mean- That first day I came in here. You remember that.” Zee nodded. Anthony stood up and started pacing, apparently unable to keep still. “Well, I woke up that morning in my flat, and it was like there was this great gaping _chasm_ where my memories of my life up to that point should have been. Do you know what I mean?” He looked beseechingly at Zee, who nodded again, though more begrudgingly this time.

Anthony continued, sounding a little manic now. “So, well, I went wandering around London for hours, just feeling lost, and then finally I found myself in front of your shop. And I had this compulsion, this need to go in. Suddenly, after muddling through a whole day with no direction, no compass. I felt like I was _home_.”

His voice broke a little on this last word, and he halted his pacing, stopping a few feet away from where Zee still stood, hovering by the shop door. “And I looked at you and I knew you’d understand. You looked so disoriented, and so alone, but when I looked into your eyes I knew that we could help each other somehow, I just knew it.” Anthony took a step forward, hands stretched out towards Zee like a supplication. “I tried to talk to you then, but you didn’t seem ready. So I just sort of . . . figured I’d keep showing up until you were.” 

He looked so imploring, so desperately forlorn that Zee had to stifle a sudden, ridiculous urge to take him into his arms and stroke his copper hair. 

“Well I’m sorry, but I have no expectation that I will ever be changing my mind about this. I see no reason to dwell on the mysteries of the past. I have a business to run.”

Anthony looked incredulous. “So you really don’t care what’s happened to you? You don’t want to find out why your life doesn’t make sense?”

“Please, my life makes _perfect_ sense,” Zee said, heatedly.

“Oh really?” Anthony retorted. “You turn much of a profit selling a couple dozen books a day in Soho? Numbers all add up, do they?” Zee looked away, flushing. 

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said slowly. “At least, no one’s come banging on the door with unpaid bills, and my credit card seems to work just fine when I go out to eat-”

“Speaking of eating, how’s your kitchen?” Anthony interrupted. “Because mine’s spotless—like, _unused_ spotless—and empty except for a few very expensive, very old bottles of wine in the fridge, and I find I don’t know how to cook a thing anyway. How was I keeping myself _alive_, is what I’m saying? 

“And what did I _do_ all day? It’s all very well for you, you’ve got your shop to run, but me? I don’t think I have a job, or a family, or any friends, except maybe you, if you’d give me a chance. You think I have better things to do with myself than hang around your shop? Well I _don’t_. All I have is these flashes of memories—jousting tournaments and Roman baths and _flying_ over endless deserts—and they make no sense, but the only constant in them is _you_.” 

He took a ragged breath, and again Zee had to fight to keep himself from reaching out to offer comfort. But this man was essentially a stranger to him, and possibly an unhinged one, from the sound of it, whatever he might be saying about them being _friends_.

“I truly am sorry,” he made himself say. “But I simply feel that if I’m _meant_ to understand what’s happened to me—to both of us, I suppose—then I trust that an explanation will be provided to us in due course, and in the meantime there’s no use thinking about it!”

Anthony scoffed. “You’re much too trusting, Zee. You really ought to ask more questions.”

Well that was just uncalled-for. “Alright, _fine_. Maybe I do like avoiding- avoiding _awkward questions_. If so it’s because, frankly, I’m much happier just ignoring them and trying to live my life. And if you can’t respect that, then I think it would be best if you . . .” He paused, and steeled himself. “If you didn’t come around here anymore.”

Anthony stood stock-still for a long moment, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses. Zee felt—again, irrationally—that he ought to take those glasses off his face and—even more irrationally—kiss him deeply and thoroughly. But then the moment passed.

“Fine,” Anthony said, suddenly dispassionate and detached. “Fine. Have it your way, Zee. I’ll leave you alone and I’ll take my _awkward questions_ with me.” And he was gone.

Zee felt strangely empty, like he’d lost something important. But it was alright; he was used to the feeling, by now. 

* * *

The shop was lonely without Anthony there, though Zee couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t as if Anthony had been a scintillating conversationalist on a day-to-day basis, just sprawling there on the sofa all day like a cat or something, but his presence had made the shop feel homier. Zee didn’t want to say he _missed_ Anthony but . . . well it was rather inescapably true. Zee carried on as usual, though, unsure what other option he had.

* * *

Until one morning, a couple of weeks later, when he went down to open the shop and found that a ticket to a West End production of _West Side Story_ had been slipped under the front door. A note was clipped to it:

_Sorry about how we left things. I can learn to leave well enough alone if it’s what you really want. Peace offering? –A_

And, well, Zee wasn’t one to pass up a trip to the theatre. The thrilling sense of joy and relief he was feeling was simply the result of having gone too long without a proper evening out. Or so he told himself.

* * *

Zee showed up early, naturally. He settled into his (really quite excellent) seat, one of the first to arrive. And there he sat, twiddling his thumbs nervously, as the hall gradually filled up around him until the air was humming with conversation and anticipation. 

The seat beside him remained empty, however, and Zee found himself feeling irritatingly crestfallen. He’d thought that the invitation was for him to _join_ Anthony at the theatre, but perhaps he’d been mistaken and it had been simply a gift for him to enjoy by himself. But he was so lonely, he realised, sitting by himself amidst this happy throng of people enjoying themselves, having an evening out with friends or family or lovers. Anthony may have been infuriating, but he’d been right about one thing: apparently, each of them was all the other had.

It was as Zee contemplated this rather melancholy thought that a sleek, suit-clad figure dropped bonelessly into the seat next to him, just as the lights dimmed for the show.

“Anthony!” he exclaimed, positively beaming. Oh dear, did he sound overeager?

“Zee,” Anthony greeted him in return, though his face was turned resolutely towards the stage. “Mind if I join you?”

“Oh of course not!” Zee replied, dropping to a whisper as the orchestra started to play. “In fact I’d rather hoped-“ He trailed off, blushing a little.

That did earn him a look, though Anthony’s expression was so hard to read behind his glasses, which he was wearing even here in the darkened theatre.

“Thank you for the ticket, is all,” Zee finished. Anthony flashed him a quick grin, and turned back to watch the performance.

They sat in silence through the first act, and barely even spoke during the brief intermission. But it was a companionable silence somehow, Zee thought. He felt . . . at ease, in a way that he hadn’t since he’d blown up at Anthony all those days ago.

And the show was so good, too. Dazzling and heart-wrenching and fun by turns. Zee knew he’d seen it before, though of course he couldn’t have said where or when. There was a film version; perhaps he’d watched that. 

It was during the song “Somewhere” that Zee realised two things at once, both rather startling. One was that Anthony had slipped a hand over his on the armrest. The other was that Zee was crying.

_“There’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us, hold my hand and we’re halfway there, hold my hand and I’ll take you there.”_

Zee blinked furiously, trying to clear the tears from his eyes. It was a moving song, to be sure, but there was no reason for it to make him so _sad._

Anthony leaned over, putting his mouth to Zee’s ear. It tickled pleasantly. “You cried at the premiere, too, you know,” he said in a low voice.

“I what?” Zee whispered back, before his mind was overtaken by a sudden flood of images that didn’t make any sense. Crossing Times Square with Anthony by his side, looking just the same but for his slicked-back hair; standing in hushed awe in the Reading Room at the New York Public Library; strolling through Central Park in autumn, heading towards the reservoir to feed the ducks. All this he tamped this down furiously, determined to put it out of his mind and enjoy the show. “Oh hush, that can’t be. We aren’t old enough to have been to the premiere. And I’ve never even been to America.”

Anthony pulled back to look at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, and went back to watching the play, though his hand stayed right where it was on Zee’s.

* * *

Afterwards, they had made their way back to his shop. Without quite knowing how he’d gotten here, Zee found himself standing in the back room, uncorking a bottle of wine while Anthony lazed on the sofa. He struggled with it for a minute—for someone who liked wine so much, he found he was rubbish at opening it manually—then gave a triumphant sigh as the cork finally pulled free. He poured them each a modest glass and settled in on the sofa too, Anthony shifting to make room. His glasses had come off, too, and Zee felt a little thrill of pleasure at the rare sight of his brilliant golden eyes. 

“Really, I can’t thank you enough for tonight,” Zee said, after tasting the wine. “And . . . I’m sorry about all those things I said, before. I hadn’t realised quite how much I enjoy your company until you were gone.” He flashed a weak, apologetic smile at Anthony, who waved it off.

“Water under the bridge, Zee, really. I shouldn’t have been so pushy. This whole memory thing is a lot to process, and I should let you do it your own way.” He took a long swig of wine before continuing. “And when it comes down to it, all that really matters is-” he hesitated for a moment, then continued, “is that I don’t lose you. Because you’re the only thing that makes any sense to me.”

And suddenly Anthony was leaning towards him, his lips approaching Zee’s with almost alarming speed. Zee felt a rush of joy, and was just starting to move forward to meet him, when as a small voice in the back of his head whispered, _Not yet._

He froze for a moment, then took a shuddering breath and pulled away. “I’m sorry, my dear. I know you must think me terribly old-fashioned, but I . . . need more time. It’s too fast.”

Anthony leaned back at once, looking more sympathetic than hurt, which Zee supposed was a blessing. 

“You take all the time you need,” he said softly, taking Zee’s hand in his and bringing it up to his lips for a brief, courtly kiss. Zee’s insides melted a little at the feeling of Anthony’s mouth on his skin, and he was strongly reconsidering his refusal of a proper kiss. But the voice in his head was adamant. _Not yet._ “I’m not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

“Oh, no, I want you right here,” Zee assured him hurriedly. “I just . . . need to take things slow. _Very_ slow.” He grimaced at himself.

“We can be _glacial_ for all I care, angel,” Anthony said, smiling fondly at Zee. “You’re well worth the wait.” He stood and stretched, cat-like in his grace. “I’ll be off now, but I’ll see you soon.” And he was out the door and gone into the night before Zee could say a word, leaving Zee with a nearly-full bottle of wine and quite a lot to think about.

_Angel, he called me, _Zee thought, his cheeks flushing pink. _I quite like that._

* * *

After that evening, he and Anthony began to go out regularly. Zee hesitated to call their outings dates; they were really just spending time together, having friendly arguments over lingering dinners, feeding the ducks at St. James’s Park, buying groceries and making disastrous attempts at learning to cook. 

These were simple things, but Zee was struck with a conviction that he had never been so happy before in his life. He felt carefree in a way that was utterly unfamiliar. And he thought Anthony might feel the same; he’d sometimes catch a look of surprise on the other man’s face, like he couldn’t believe his luck. 

Luck will run out eventually, though. And Zee felt his run out abruptly one night, when he returned to his shop alone after a very pleasant evening with Anthony, and found the front door ajar. There was no sign of forced entry, but nonetheless Zee felt a shiver of foreboding travel down his spine. Perhaps he’d simply forgotten to close the door behind him earlier, but somehow he knew that was not the case.

He paused just inside the doorway. “Hello?” he called, tentatively. Maybe no one would answer.

And then the shop flooded with light, like someone had flipped every switch in the building and thrown in some spotlights for good measure. 

Zee recoiled, flinging an arm across his eyes to protect them from the sudden brightness. He lowered it cautiously after a few moments, and blinked furiously, trying to get his vision to adjust. His eyes gradually focused, and he was able to make out a trio of imposing figures standing in radiant illumination at the center of the shop floor. All three were dressed in immaculate whites and beiges, adding to the luminous effect.

“Would you look at that, Sandalphon? He finally showed up!” said the tallest one, grinning a grin that Zee instinctively wanted to smack right off his handsome face. (The immediacy and violence of this urge were startling to Zee, who considered himself a fervent pacifist under most circumstances.)

Another figure, much shorter, snickered smarmily in response. And again, Zee’s hackles went up of their own accord. “That he did, Gabriel, that he did.” The third figure, who had close-cropped dark curls, smirked silently.

“Did you miss us?” asked the man whose name was Gabriel, in a chipper tone that still chilled Zee to his core.

“I- Am I supposed to know you?” Zee asked, trying to sound polite even as he found himself gritting his teeth against a surge of inexplicable anger.

Gabriel and the other two exchanged conspiratorial glances.

“You don’t know who we are?” Gabriel asked, sounding like he could hardly believe his luck.

“Er- I’m afraid not. I’m terribly sorry if I’m being rude,” Zee said, laughing hesitantly, “but I’ve had a spot of trouble with the old noggin recently, memory’s not what it used to be, you know.” Strange, he hadn’t meant to admit to his memory problems, but the words poured out of his mouth anyway. He felt like the brilliant light was piercing his very soul.

“He’s human, Gabriel,” said the third figure, in a monotone that somehow oozed smugness.

“_Human?_” exclaimed Zee and Gabriel simultaneously. “What else would I be?” Zee continued, indignant. Gabriel threw back his head and roared with laughter. Sandalphon and the other both chuckled appreciatively, too, but Gabriel seemed the most delighted.

He recovered himself slowly, wheezing out, “Those scaly bastards beat us to the punch! Human, can you believe it?” His two companions shook their heads; they could not, apparently, believe it. Zee himself could hardly believe what was happening either, but for different reasons.

“I’m sorry, but would you kindly explain what the _hell_ is going on?” he asked, finally giving up the battle against the outright anger that was welling up inside him.

“Hit the nail on the head! That is exactly what’s going on,” said Gabriel, his tone turning patronizing. “But you know what? Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. There's nothing we could do to you at this point that would be nearly so satisfying as knowing that you're stuck here, living your mortal life, reading your books, enjoying your _pornography_-“ Zee opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel barreled on, “-and growing all old and wrinkly and gross. Just know that we’ll be working on some real treats to have waiting for you when your disgusting human body finally gives up the ghost.” 

He cracked another one of those grins that sent fury shooting through Zee’s veins, and then, before Zee could respond, the trio . . . vanished.

Zee blinked. The shop was empty, aside from him, and the lights had dimmed to their usual level. Of the three intruders there was no sign. 

Zee felt his knees buckle, and suddenly he was kneeling on the welcome mat, still speechless with shock and confusion. The three figures had well and truly disappeared, without a trace, and were it not for the dazzle that still hung across his vision, Zee might have thought he’d imagined the whole thing.

As it was, he knelt in silence for what seemed like a long time, trying and failing to make any sense whatsoever of what had just happened.

He was brought out of his stupor by the sound of his phone ringing. He knew who it was without looking.

“Anthony?”

“_Zee_,” breathed the voice on the other end of the phone. “Are you alright? Did they get the shop, too?” Anthony sounded frantic.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Zee assured him, only partly lying. “And, er, what do you mean _too_? Are _you_ alright?”

There was silence on the line for a long moment. “I, er-“ Anthony began, his voice shaking. “I don’t even know- there was someone here. In my flat. No idea who he was, but no one good. And- and he acted like he knew everything about me, but I don’t have any memory of him, and he was . . . gleeful about that, I guess, but in this _evil_ way, if you know what I mean?”

Zee was not sure that he did know, but that wasn’t his most important consideration right now. “Was there just the one intruder? And is he gone?”

“Yeah- yeah just the one, and he is. Really he just . . . vanished?” Zee gulped. Anthony went on, oblivious, “He didn’t even do anything, or steal anything as far as I can tell. He just . . . lurked and- and loomed and . . . _gloated_? Super weird. Super . . . not good. I don’t even know how to describe it, but he was awful.”

Zee had never heard Anthony’s voice like this. He sounded like he’d had the fear of God put in him. Or something like that, anyway.

“Would you-“ Anthony swallowed audibly. “Would you come over? I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t think I can face being alone right now, and- and I don’t have anyone else.” 

Zee’s heart broke a little, hearing the rawness of Anthony’s voice. “Of course. Of course, my dear, I’ll be right over.” Zee didn’t particularly want to be at the bookshop anyway, in case his own unwelcome visitors came back. Whoever it was who’d been threatening Anthony, at least they’d be able to face him together if he turned up again. “Oh, right- where do you live?” 

* * *

Anthony opened the door to his flat almost before Zee had a chance to knock. 

“Thank you, Zee. For coming.” He looked rattled, and a little embarrassed, as he held the door for Zee. 

“Don’t mention it, I’m glad to be here,” Zee said, walking into the foyer, then added quickly, “I mean, I’m not glad this happened, but-“

“I know what you meant,” Anthony said, shooting Zee a quick smile as he looked around. His expression faltered, though, as he saw the confusion on Zee’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Zee was frozen in place, his brow furrowed. “I- I know this place,” he said slowly, astonished. “Why do I know this place?”

Anthony stared at him in silence for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Welcome to my world, angel.”

* * *

After taking a few minutes to adjust to the disconcerting sense of familiarity that the apartment had awakened in him, Zee put the kettle on (and found that he knew exactly which shelf to find the tea bags on) while Anthony poured them both some whiskey. 

He plopped down on his very chic sofa and gestured for Zee to sit beside him; the seat was surprisingly comfortable, given the piece’s sharp lines. Zee found his gaze lingering on Anthony’s slender, angular form, wondering if it would be as soft and pleasant to curl up against. Then he realised the turn his thoughts had taken and blushed deeply. Luckily, Anthony was eyeing his whiskey and looking pensive, and didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Thank you, again, for being here,” Anthony said, still not looking at Zee. “I don’t- I feel a bit ridiculous, to be honest, but my . . . my _visitor_ really shook me up.”

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” Zee assured him again. He understood all too well, he thought; he didn’t feel all that well after his own mysterious visitation.

“There was just something really, deeply wrong about him, you know? And he- he said something about not being _human_, or- or being surprised that I was human, maybe? But it doesn’t make any sense, what else would I be?”

Zee froze, realizing how closely Anthony’s encounter paralleled his own. He knew he ought to speak up, and tell Anthony about his own experience, but well . . . he really, really didn’t want to. And besides, it seemed likely that sharing his own story would only add to Anthony’s anxiousness. The responsible thing to do, Zee decided with relief, was to keep quiet and just be supportive of his friend.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense at all! How awful and strange that must have been for you,” Zee said.

Anthony looked over at him with an expression of affection that was obvious even through his glasses. 

“Thanks, angel. I feel better just having someone to listen and- and believe me.”

Zee couldn’t help it; he reached out and took Anthony’s hand where it lay on the couch between them, giving it what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.

“Of course. I am so glad to be-“ Zee said shakily (why was he suddenly so overwhelmed with emotion? He cared for Anthony, certainly, but the potency of the affection he now felt was surely disproportionate to the occasion?) “-to be able to be your support and confidant.” (What a ridiculous thing to say!)

Anthony apparently disagreed. He tilted his head to look over his glasses and straight into Zee’s eyes. “You always have been,” he said simply. 

Zee hesitated, then gave in. “My dear, I do believe you’re right.”

* * *

Zee awoke in the morning and found himself curled up comfortably in Anthony’s bed. Alone, that is; Anthony had elected to sleep on the sofa, courteously ceding his bedroom to his guest. 

And, with a level of conviction that was nearly alien to him, Zee felt confident that he would not be sleeping in Anthony’s bed alone ever again. He’d been experiencing a broad spectrum of emotions toward Anthony from the moment he’d first walked into the shop, ranging from joy to aggravation to lust and so much more, and he felt them coalescing now into something more. Something he wasn’t quite ready to name, just yet. 

He came out into the kitchen to find Anthony already up and about, brewing coffee and making a valiant attempt at a full English breakfast. If they ended up breaking their fast primarily on toast and jam, well, Zee could only blame himself for having emerged, sleep-mussed and drowsy, at a particularly critical juncture in Anthony’s delicate cooking process.

They barely spoke, at first, with Zee still fighting off yawns and Anthony focused on his culinary efforts. It was only after they’d sat down to breakfast at Anthony’s kitchen table that the companionable silence was really broken. 

“What would you think of going away for a couple of days? Getting out of London?” Anthony asked, swinging his crossed leg lazily and looking nonchalant. _Too_ nonchalant to be quite convincing, if Zee was any judge. 

“Oh? Anywhere in particular?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Anthony drawled, “maybe somewhere in Oxfordshire? Convenient to get to, but far enough to feel like a real getaway. Give me some space to recover from being threatened by . . . whatever that guy was.” His leg was swinging faster, and he was studiously regarding his coffee and avoiding Zee’s eyes.

Zee sat in silence, just looking at him. Anthony finally glanced up. “What?” he asked, a picture of innocence.

Zee laughed gently. “Why don’t you just tell me where we’re going? You obviously have somewhere in mind.”

Anthony looked down for a moment, then met his eyes. “Village called Tadfield,” he muttered. 

“What’s in Tadfield? Or do you know?”

“I’m . . . not sure. I got a letter that was posted from there. Or sort of a letter, it was really just the word ‘Thanks’ scrawled in a kid’s handwriting, along with a picture of this smiling family standing in front of what looked like an air base, or something.”

Zee frowned, trying to think. None of this rang any bells for him, but he was used to that by now. 

Anthony continued, “But I . . . I feel like we should go, you know? Have a picnic, enjoy the quiet country life for a day?”

Zee had spent very little time in the country as far as he could remember. But that wasn’t very far at all, of course. 

“Certainly, whatever you like, my dear. Maybe it will do us some good.” Anthony positively beamed, and Zee found himself flushing happily, pleased to find himself capable of bringing such joy to Anthony’s face. 

* * *

The drive out to Tadfield was beautiful, and not long at all (especially with Anthony at the wheel; he really did drive like a bat out of hell, Zee thought). They parked on a quaint lane with brilliantly coloured trees all up and down the sides, reds and golds gleaming among the few remaining green leaves.

Zee found he finally understood the appeal of country living, as they walked along, hand in hand. He couldn’t imagine anything more idyllic than this lovely little village. The air was a little crisp, as autumn was getting on, but the sun was shining beautifully. It was really the epitome of a perfect autumnal day, Zee thought. Looking over at Anthony, he felt a stirring of that same emotion that had started manifesting itself this morning. It was getting stronger, he thought.

He put it out of his mind for now, and they wandered, aimless but happy, through the town proper, stopping in at the local café for a quick coffee. As they went back out into the fresh air, Zee paused by a poster on the shop window, advertising an upcoming production of _Much Ado About Nothing_ in Oxford. Anthony examined the poster and smiled, turning to Zee. 

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you—is not that strange?”

Zee was speechless for a moment, but then recognition dawned. “As strange as the thing I know not,” he replied, smiling. Then he paused. “You know, I . . . I think I played Beatrice, once.” A shadowy flicker of memory, a huge theatre, the smell of dust and beer and dirt. “It must have been a long time ago.” He frowned, a familiar face emerging through the fog of memory. “You . . . you were Benedick.” 

Anthony’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. 

“Do you remember it, too?” Zee asked tentatively.

Anthony frowned briefly. “I might remember a flash or two, though I’m not sure, to be honest. It’s just . . . nice to hear you talk about it. Acknowledge it. Makes me feel . . . less like a mad man.” He cracked a humourless grin.

Zee bit his lip. “I’m- I’m so sorry, my dear. It’s just, I thought it was easier to leave well enough alone and pretend like everything’s fine. But it isn’t.” His voice shook slightly, and suddenly Anthony pulled him in close and embraced him. Which was unexpected but so, so nice. Zee let himself sink into the contact and he felt something deep inside him unclench, something he hadn’t even known was there. 

“Buck up, angel,” Anthony said, soft and affectionate. “We’re in this together now.” 

Zee pulled away just enough to look up at his friend and smile. “We certainly are.” 

They both seemed loath to break the embrace, but they eventually managed and set off down the street again, though their hands stayed intertwined.

It was a small village, and the main street swiftly gave way to meandering country roads. They turned down a footpath that led into an orchard, where the trees were laden with apples. Zee couldn’t remember the last time he’d been somewhere so peaceful. There was hardly a sound besides the tromping of their shoes and the twittering of birds in the trees. A ways ahead of them, a small black-and-white dog scampered across the path for a moment, with a boy in hot pursuit. The boy glanced their way and waved before running off. Zee found himself raising his free hand to wave back, and saw Anthony do the same.

“Do you know him?” Zee asked.

“Can’t say,” Anthony said, smiling ruefully. “He looked a little like the kid in the photo, the one I mentioned this morning, but honestly I’m rubbish at telling kids apart.” They passed under a low-hanging branch and Anthony halted, reaching up with his free hand to pluck a brilliant red apple. He proffered it to Zee. “Want the first bite?” 

Zee hesitated. The swirling feelings that had been building in his chest all day, since he’d woken up in Anthony’s bed, were becoming too much to bear. 

“I might,” he said slowly. “But there’s something else I want first.”

With a surge of determination, he moved his free hand to Anthony’s shoulder and pulled himself in close. Anthony made a surprised but pleased noise that was swiftly muffled as Zee pressed their lips together. 

He heard the apple drop to the ground, and the hand that had been holding it found the small of his back. It felt like it belonged there, and Zee hummed happily. 

It was a nice kiss, at first. More than nice, really. And then, as Anthony’s mouth opened under his, Zee suddenly became aware of a new kind of mounting sensation: a pressure behind his eyes, a shrieking whistle in his ears, an itch along his spine. The sensations grew stronger and stronger until they were overwhelming. Zee was bewildered; he’d heard of the earth moving beneath new lovers, of sparks flying, but this was something different, something strange, something . . . not altogether human. 

And then it hit him—them, really—like a freight train. 

_“Aziraphale,”_ he heard a hoarse, awed voice say, as six thousand years of memories unfurled in his brain—both their brains—and divine power soared through his veins. 

“I didn't expect this would _hurt_ so much, dammit,” Aziraphale said, with a frustration that faded quickly as he realised with a sense of triumph that the plan had actual _worked_. “Oh, it’s good to be back.”

_Before:_

“We don’t have much time. They’ll be coming for us soon, whatever Adam said.”

“I love you, you know.”

“I’ve always known, of course I’ve always known. I love you, too, you darling idiot. Now come over here and let’s make the most of whatever time we have before the combined forces of Heaven and Hell come crashing down on us.”

“About that . . .”

“Hm?”

“I have an idea. Agnes’s last prophecy, you see-“

“Oh right, ‘I should chewse neither angell nor daemon to be.’ Sounds like a warning to me.”

“Well, I thought . . . it might be . . . more of a suggestion.”

“What? You can’t mean-“

“If we were _human_, for example, they might take one look at us and say, ‘Well, that’s punishment enough.’”

“They do seem to have an awfully low opinion of humans.”

“Exactly. Though of course, if we wanted it to be really convincing as a ‘punishment’-“

“We’d have to give up our powers, and- and our memories. Just be ordinary humans.”

“Temporarily. Just long enough for them to get distracted by whatever it is they do when they’re not mucking up our lives.”

“We could lock it all away. We’d just need to come up with some way of _unlocking_ it. Something we can count on, even if we don’t have our memories.”

“I have an idea for that, too.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Oh! Oh, that _is_ nice. But-“

“But what?”

“But what if . . . what if we don’t find each other?”

“Look at me. We will _always_ find each other.”

“How can you know?”

“I just know. Trust me, it’ll all turn out well.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It’s a mystery. It’s-“

“Ineffable.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone was wondering, I did in fact keep typing "Aziraphale" and "Crowley" rather than "Zee" and "Anthony" throughout the writing process and had to go back and correct myself many times.


End file.
